Northern Skies by Idrils Scribe

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Chapter 2

Elrond’s hatred for Vilya was bitter as bile, the day the ring came to stand between him and the search for Elrohir. From the moment he received it from Ereinion’s hands he had known that to bear a jewel so powerful would demand sacrifices. On his king’s orders Elrond had permitted his mind to become inseparably entwined with Vilya’s invading power. He had accepted being forever confined to the physical safety of strongholds and armed escorts: Vilya could not be risked. Elrond had acquiesced and given his very self for its safekeeping without hesitation.

Until Elrohir went missing, and the Lord of Imladris found he could not risk his ring, and with it the fates of all Elvendom in Ennor, by taking part in the search. When Erestor first pointed out that harsh truth forty years ago Elrond had thrown Vilya across his study, spat at it and spun on his heels to leave the jewel behind and go find his son. He had not quite made it out of the house before the ring’s pull on its bearer became unbearable and Elrond’s immovable sense of duty reasserted itself.

“Keep it secret. Keep it safe.”

Ereinion’s last words to Elrond, rasped from his charred throat as the High King lay dying from his burns on the slopes of Orodruin. It would take a callous man indeed to lay aside such an order, and Elrond was not one.

He had wept before Celebrían’s compassion, limitless despite her own anguish, and agreed to stay behind in the safety of Imladris as she rode out with Glorfindel to oversee the long search that remained fruitless until today.

As the company from Imladris advanced southeast along the banks of the Gwathló to finally retrieve Elrohir, Elrond was grateful for Vilya’s enhancement of his senses. He could perceive Elrohir’s presence long before any other Elf in the riding, the sensation waxing as physical distance grew smaller.
Elrond withdrew from the sight of his waking eyes, the rolling hills of Eregion with their blanket of purple heather just coming into the splendour of autumn, to turn his gaze to the Unseen and bask in the presence of his youngest son’s mind. It was unmistakably half-Elven, unique in its complexity and matched only by Elladan’s. Elrond relished the first stirrings of a connection he prayed would never be broken again.

Celebrían was just as eager for her horse’s every step to bring her closer to their lost child. She perceived the echo of Elrohir’s mind through their bond. Elladan had grown frantic, constantly pressing to ride faster and longer into the darkening autumn evenings.

 

----

 

As the afternoon of the ninth day began to darken Elrond brought the convoy to an early stop amidst tall holly bushes in a small valley. A full harvest moon was rising as the Lord of Imladris ordered cooking fires lit and tents raised. Elladan had already turned his horse around to face his father and protest the delay when it dawned on him that all this was intended to receive his brother.

Elladan kept his hands and mind occupied helping his father's guard set up camp. Once he had exhausted all possible tasks to busy himself, Elladan found he could not bear the jittery atmosphere of joyous anticipation around the campfire. He withdrew to his own tent and lit a single oil-lamp before sitting down on his cot in the spill of golden light, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. He could not fully grasp that his twin --known only by the gaping wound that was his absence-- would soon be standing next to him. How inconceivable -- that Elrohir would spend the coming night on the camp bed standing empty next to Elladan’s own. He tried to imagine his brother beside him, both physically and in mind, but his attempts came up empty.

Elladan’s dark musings were interrupted when the tent flap rustled to admit Elrond. He felt a swell of gratitude for his father’s habitual kindness of setting aside his own agitation and uncertainty to extend care to those around him. Elladan let himself be drawn into an embrace like the child he no longer was.

“Glorfindel’s party draws close. Can you feel him yet?”

Both knew Elrond’s question did not concern Glorfindel. Elladan concentrated, stretching his mind as far as it would reach to find only familiar Elven minds, pulsing like many-hued living lights against the dark expanse of the world around them. He shook his head, dejected.

Elrond pulled Elladan closer, extending his own consciousness to encompass him. Somewhere in the remarkable depths of Elrond’s perception were more Elves, Glorfindel and his warriors. Among them, strange yet unmistakably familiar, was another fëa like his own, neither Elf nor Man. Elladan’s heart was roughly torn from his body, so fierce was the sudden pain of longing. Nothing else would do, nothing would ever be well again if he could not get up and leave now to go seek Elrohir and undo the intolerable wrong that was their separation.
Elrond muted his sight and held him close. His own distress was briefly visible before calm and comfort took over once more.

“Peace, Elladan. I only meant to ease the last hours of waiting for you. It seems I turned them to torment instead. Eregion is far too perilous for you to wander off in search of your brother. Glorfindel keeps him safe, and they are riding hard. Endure this for me, only a little longer.”

Elladan eyed his father with awe and compassion, well aware that Elrond could not blunt Elrohir’s presence from his own consciousness.

“Is this longing the same for you?”

Elrond smiled, a thin veneer over a deep well of sadness.

“You are twins. A parent’s yearning is not quite the same.”

Elladan was struck by the realisation that his father had endured an utterly permanent separation from his own twin. Elrond read the thought.

“Do not dwell in the past. For you and him, at least we have been able to set things aright.“

 

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Elrohir saw the campfires when the company rounded the crest of a hill. The pull of Elladan’s presence in his mind had waxed throughout the night, consuming him like a fever. At the sight of the tents in the valley below it became so strong he struggled to hold still. Standing in the stirrups he frantically tried to make out the figures moving between the tents and the signs on their banners. He whipped around to Glorfindel.

"Is Elladan there?!" he demanded without preamble.

When the Glorfindel nodded, Elrohir gave in and spurred Rochael towards the camp at breakneck speed. The mare perceived her rider's urgency and gave all she had.

Elladan froze as the connection to his twin returned, like a shuttered window opening to let sunlight stream back into a dark room. Elladan felt Elrohir’s eagerness, the fluid movements of the galloping horse under him and the cold wind whipping his face. He brusquely turned away from his father and stormed out into the night, blind and deaf to everything around him except Elrohir’s presence like a beacon in his mind.

The twins met in the deep shadows of a copse of holly trees on the valley floor. Elrohir felt no need to slow down for a look at the figure sprinting towards him in the dark. He knew that face well enough, and forty years worth of longing left no room for subtlety. He dismounted without slowing, already running as he hit the ground. There were just a few more leaps until he was caught in his brother's arms.

Elladan had been nothing more than a disembodied specter in Elrohir’s mind for so long that the thump of their chests cracking together in a violent embrace seemed absurdly solid.
Both twins struggled for breath as time froze to a standstill. Their minds touched fully once more after the long years apart. There was joy, and splendid relief from the agony of separation, like a broken bone pulled back into place -- but also grief and anger at their loss. Elrohir could not tell whose feelings were washing through him, or even down which one of their faces he felt tears streaming.

The instant their bond was remade a deluge of tangled memories swept them both away: toddlers played, roses grew, children climbed a tree. Someone rode a horse, another held a sword. Tears were cried, many miles traveled, friends gained and lost, songs sung, nightmares lived sleeping and waking. A red sun rose, snow fell, eagles flew, a tall ship sailed.
When Elrohir finally remembered his own eyes again and opened them, they were surrounded by many others.

Elrohir came back to his senses, suddenly and sharply aware that Elladan and he stood at the center of a growing throng of Elves. A circle of pale, perfect faces glimmered in the deep shadows beneath the trees, eyes alive with a light that was not entirely of this world. Elrohir shuddered. He had to suppress his ingrained soldier's reflex to spin around and face them standing back to back with his brother. Elladan keenly felt Elrohir’s fear, his mind a wordless stream of reassurance as he held Elrohir against him.

To touch Elladan once more, see his disjointed memories replaced with his brother solid and real in his arms was a joy worth every lonely mile from Harad to the North. Their newfound connection proved far more intimate than what Elrohir had experienced with Glorfindel. Elrohir could perceive his brother’s mind as a living, ever-shifting tapestry of thought and feeling, its background and accent colors changeable, but always familiar and beautiful for the joy it now held. He knew Elladan had a similar insight into him. He would have felt exposed, violated even if their proximity had not been so natural and fundamentally right. The relief of once more being complete -- a missing half no longer -- was immense.

A moment later the crowd parted. Ever since his first meeting with Glorfindel Elrohir had been dismayed and vaguely embarrassed by how precious little he remembered of his parents. Now that they stood before him in the flesh there could be no doubt. Elrond stood hovering over his sons, his eyes wet. Celebrían was turning Elrohir towards her by the shoulder and enveloping him in her ams. For a moment joy was all.

Elrohir was sobered when Elladan tried to speak to him, and soon found that Elrohir did not remember a word of Sindarin. Elladan’s look of sadness and frustration spoke volumes. After some confusion they had to settle on Númenórean. While Elrond and Celebrían appeared to speak it well Elladan had little. Having to use the language of his old enemy added to Elrohir’s pervasive sense of unease. Elladan immediately tried to quench it by embracing him once more.

With a sinking feeling Elrohir realised he had to tilt his head up to look Elladan in the eye. He knew for a fact they had once been of a height. Now Elladan was taller by at least a hand span, and his broad-shouldered figure highlighted the difference. Elrohir knew he looked hunger-lean. Being dressed in clothes sized for his twin would do nothing to soften the blow. Elrond and Celebrian were visibly struck, joy and sorrow battling for precedence in their eyes. Concern flashed through Elrohir’s mind. To be found wanting within moments of his arrival was an ill-starred beginning.
Elrond took Elrohir’s arm, gently breaking up the little world of their own the twins had sunk into. His Númenórean was perfect, though the accent of the Northern Kingdom added to the strangeness.

“Welcome home, my son. I understand the journey was long and full of hardship. Come, let us get you off your feet.”

With that he put an arm around Elrohir’s shoulders and led him towards the camp. Elrohir was deeply grateful to be spared the impossible task of distilling a reply worthy of the occasion from his nonexistent knowledge of Elvish manners. He let himself be guided in silence, flanked by his parents and his brother, towards the tents.

Elladan slipped into his twin's thoughts and perceptions as if he had never left. Elrohir could feel his brother’s quicksilver presence moving through his mind. It was all he could do to spare the concentration needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Elladan’s joy was infectious and he felt himself buoyed by it.

Elrohir felt marginally more at ease inside his parents’ tent. The pavillion’s night-blue walls, shot through with silver-grey stars, were a marvel in themselves and a welcome shield from the prying eyes of strange Elves. He had regained a curious sort of calm, achieved by distancing himself from all of it and observing like he would the movements of pieces on a gameboard, curious what he would think or do next. Beyond that detached separation lay a confusing jumble of emotions he could ill afford to visit.

Celebrían could not resist the temptation to pull him into her arms once more. Elrohir knew her fair, fine-boned face intimately, had known it all along. He could tell she was teetering on the brink of tears. He meant to console her, but when he managed a tentative, heavily accented “Ammë”, she briefly lost control and wept openly. He laid a hand on her shoulder, hesitant because he feared violating some Elvish custom, and whispered words of comfort in Haradi before realising she would not understand.

When Celebrían had regained her composure, Elrond laid a hand on Elrohir’s shoulder and turned his son to face him. His face, too was familiar, but surely as a child Elrohir had not found the eyes so utterly strange. He could not name what it was that unsettled him so deeply. Those starlit depths bore witness to uncounted years of growth and dying, wounded victory and deep defeat, laughter and sorrow turned to wisdom. No human being in all the ages of the world had ever had such eyes, a harsh reminder that nothing about this situation was normal.
Elrond’s gaze seemed to pierce Elrohir down to his very soul, and he reflexively closed his mind against it.

"I mean you no harm. Let me see you, so I know how to help you."

Elrond spoke calmly, opening his own mind and looking Elrohir directly in the eyes so he could see for himself the complete honesty behind the words. Elrohir took a leap of faith. He did as he was asked and let down all barriers. Instantly he was no longer alone in his own head. Elrond’s presence was as powerful as the Ringwraith’s, but brought none of its intense fear and loathing. If anything, the feeling was comforting and vaguely familiar. Elrohir allowed it to move about his mind.

Elrond went over Elrohr’s physical state, and Elrohir felt him note how tired he was, the pain he felt in various places, his absolute, pressing need for the closed-eyed sleep of Men.
Elrohir became aware of a song unlike any he had heard before. He could not tell if Elrond sang it physically or only in mind. The melody was light and joyful as a cool breeze playing through trees. Even though he could not understand the ancient language, he knew it spoke of light in dark places and peace for the weary. When the song reached its end the weight of Elrohir’s fears had lifted somewhat, and he found himself comfortable inside his own skin once more. At that, Elrond withdrew, leaving Elrohir in wonder. He felt refreshed, reassured, and much more capable of sleep than before.

Elrond smiled. “Now sleep, both of you. There will be time enough for talk when you are rested.”

Without words passing between them, Elladan took his hand and led him outside. Night had barely begun to turn to morning and the air was cold and wet. There were no stars to be seen, but a sea-grey light was spreading across the heavy rain clouds to the East. They headed to another tent nearby, with two camp beds and a small table with two cups of wine. It was strong stuff, and after he’d knocked back his in one gulp Elrohir could delay sleep no longer. He laid down fully clothed, kicking his boots under the bed, and knew no more.

-----

Once Elrohir's eyes had closed and his breathing grew slow and regular, Elladan sank into open-eyed dreams, equally exhausted from days of hard riding and emotional upheaval.
With great stealth even for an Elf, Elrond entered. He carefully scrutinized Elrohir’s face in the blueish half-light filtering through the tent’s canvas. The closed eyes were concerning, their lashes casting half-moons of sunken darkness on his cheeks. In sleep Elrohir’s mind was a foreign place, its patterns more Mannish than Elven.

Celebrían silently entered and sat between the beds of their sleeping sons after briefly fussing over Elrohir with another blanket.

Elrond put an arm around her and rested his head on her leather-clad shoulder. A gust of rain rattled the tent. He felt Celebrían think dreamily,

At last I can find joy in the weather again. At every drop of rain these past months, my mind kept returning to whether he was warm and dry, or out on the roads without shelter. Let it pour, now that he is safe with us!

Chapter End Notes

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